PC and Stupidity

Hang her high!

She tweeted what she should not.

Out to dry!

She did it, yes, she did, she posted it.

Said a thing or two she’s now regretting

And some are saying, stupid girl, a dullard, what a tit.

Me, I’m wondering, what about the old days,

The things we did and said that keyboards never caught,

The silly, stupid things, the mad and mental,

The things we did, full knowing, we should not.

I’m thinking she’s a silly girl for tweeting,

Sharing status, dubious, to all,

Putting neck and job online, forgetting,

That others see

That anyone can run with

Make a private call.

I’m thinking that she shouldn’t have, but musing,

How many of us would still have been employed

If everything we’d done and said, back then, had all been

Captured on a timeline, on the internet, for the world.

I’m vexing for young woman caught, so stupid,

Twenty-four or so, so soon to be dismissed

If what she wrote is deemed to be inflammatory or offensive

And why the hell, oh lassie, did you not resist.

I’m thinking of all we others who have ever

Been just as stupid, in our pasts, or presents, never seen,

Are we any less culpable than she is,

For stupid not now showing on big screen.

I can’t stop thinking of that lassie,

Career on hold, most likely, gone for good,

Such a waste, and how two-faced some folk are,

As if they’ve never fallen, always done what they all should.

I’m thinking of the arguments, the counter,

The should-have-known, should-not-have put it there,

I’m thinking of Big Brother and her mother,

Of voyeurism. I’m thinking it’s not fair.

I’m thinking and I’m glad it’s not my daughter,

I’m hoping that good sense and fair play win the day,

I’m thinking still of how we could all be that lad or lassie

And I’m cussing on pc and on the internet today.


Coming To Terms

From beginning to the ending

Though the time may be but brief

There is wonder in connection

In the parting no small grief

From the union tightly bonded

To the severing of ways

Histories that live on still

Though memories will fade

From moments of first meeting

To shy smiles fully shown

Through jokes and lessons jointly learned

Time has swiftly flown

And touched by one year’s loving

Their knowing in my heart

I’ll shed a tear one week today

When they and I must part

I’ll see them though in passing

And sometimes fully grown

The kids I’ve taught have taught me too

Offspring like my own

Families formed in term time

Terms have come and gone

Fostered for such little whiles

All children I have known

Simplicity and trusting

Their mischief and their smiles

From little lives the largest love

Greatest love by miles


That’s not to say that I’m not looking forward to the end of the school year. I’m sad, not daft!

Depends On Your Butter

Depends what you want, I suppose,

Doesn’t it,

Kids with a conscience

Or count,

Counting the pennies,

Own fortune,

Or cognisant of those

Doing without.

Depends where your

Bread has been buttered,

If jam was an option or not,

If pieces fae windaes was favoured

As three square or four with the drop.

Depends on so many factors,

Depends on memory, I guess,

Depends on whether

You’re fortuned

And want for others no less.

Depends on trying and failing,

On seeing failure as lessons well learned,

Depends on hope, love and sharing,

So dependent on how your butter was churned.


I’m doomed, alas!

It cannot be.

6 1/2 weeks felt like 3.

And as I sit

At 12.15

I ponder all these days have seen,

The plans I had

That went astray

As I relaxed, relearned to play.

I did not paint the garden fence,

Nor tidied wardrobes as I should,

I really wasn’t very good

At doing all I said I might

Or sticking to a plan at all

But what a blast! I had a ball.

And so, although

This night right here

Ends liberty of carefree cheer,

Off to school,

To class I stride

Knowing well, deep down inside,

That, even though I love to teach,

«««««Tempus fugit, really fast»»»»»

More holidays will soon be cast.

I love my job!

Gone On Holiday, Please Miss

OK. So there’s a teacher in me.

And she shouldn’t say, ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ or ‘wank’ or other words that may offend. Except there’s a teacher in me. And she won’t go away. And, whatever it takes, that’s what I’ll say. Except not in school. Shit, I’m not stupid!

I was the kid that played schools during the summer holidays. Yup, that was me. I was the teacher to your pupil. I was the better teacher. I was the one that modelled myself on the best of teachers I’d ever had. I was the one that absolutely believed, even back then, that every child had a purpose.

I am the teacher that still believes that.

Do you know what? It may be that that’s just me.

I may just have drifted into the job that fulfilled my own beliefs.

But, do you know what? I’m glad. I’m glad that I see people the way I do, that I get how special they are, that it’s my most important job to communicate that to them until they believe it.


Ahh, there’s always a but.

I have completely and utterly neglected reading posts of some of my favourite bloggers. I have become lost in the myriad posts that find their way to my reader because I followed because I liked their stuff. I liked who they appeared to me to be. I liked them. The essence of them that shone forth from their posts. And I do still like them.


I have found myself gravitating towards something that I did not know would occur.

I am utterly entranced with poetry and I did not know this. Completely. I had always liked it. I had written it in my angst-filled, self-absorbed obsession with clearing my mind. I have always enjoyed reading poetry from the classic poets.


I had no idea I would become so absorbed in the truth and essence that can be conveyed in the poetic words of others, so succinctly and, (not in my case), briefly.

I am in love.

And, like those in love, I am predisposed to my lover.

If I have followed you and not visited you it is not because I no longer admire your words or thoughts. I am simply infatuated and feel I am investigating the poesy and talent of so many and trying to learn from them.

The teacher? Well, she’s kind of gone on holiday. Because the whole purpose of me blogging at all was to get my words out there and, by God, there’s no shutting me up.


I am searching and seeking the enlightenment found within the beauty of chosen words carefully place and it has me fixated.

In love, I said. And so it is.

Cubby, Simon, poetic you and others, you fill me. I am in awe as a teacher, as a person, as a me.

Forgive me, please, I am leaving teacher in the staffroom sometimes to explore the treasures that I seek to emulate in my own way.

Here, on WordPress, I am here to learn, not teach. So, if you’re wondering why my eye has not appeared, (and I do still try to read), know that, quite possibly like everyone else here, I seek to learn as well as teach.

Please Miss, excuse me, but I had diahorrea through a hole in my hat that I got soaked in. And other such excuses that children use to explain erroneous behaviour.

I’m in love. What can I say?

A Life Well-Lived

Pope John Paul II

What more to wish

A life well-lived

A beacon in the night

A man of honour, justice, truth

A bright and guiding light.

What more to wish

A life well-lived

Courage and fortitude

A man of wisdom in God’s ways

Holy – simply good.

What more to wish

A life well-lived

An example to Mankind

Teaching, loving, suffering

God’s path in life to find.

What more to wish

A life well-lived

Honour where it’s due

He took his cross and carried it

For all – that’s me and you.

What more to wish

A life well-lived

God’s truth here to impart

To reconcile and show the way

To heal the human heart.

What more to wish

A life well-lived

To love and serve Our Lord

To lead Mankind to peace on earth

And lead us to our God.

What more to wish

A life well-lived

Has found its own reward

To rest beside his Mother

In the presence of Our Lord.

What more to wish

This life now gone

His example is not lost

His beacon shines, God’s peace to all

Mankind can count the cost.

What more to wish

If only this

His ways become ours too

Faithfulness, love and sacrifice

More we cannot do.